No Rest for Slaves

The dawn creeps over the window and unto my bed, bringing the chirps of the waking birds. The patches of my quilt brighten at its caress, colors long faded but oddly lingering. My body stirs under its weight and I moan a soft protest. Oh, sun, you wicked fiend. I was having such a pleasant dream.

“Meow?”

Shit.

My rousing brought forth a visitor, my striped tabby cat who had undoubtedly been waiting for this moment since the night before. I quickly shut my eyes and stilled my movements, hoping today was the day he’d be fooled.

I felt his approach from my feet, the compressions of his princely strut insultingly confident as he made his way to my face.

What would it be this morning, my Leonidas? Obnoxious mewing? Face-crushing nuzzles? Or would you mount my chest and block my oxygen while you did both?

A pregnant pause followed as he seemed to ponder the same question. I stiffened. I was ready. Do your worst, cat, I’m not getting up this time!

“Puah! What the hell?! Gross!”

It seemed my Leonidas, though not as inclined as his wife, Sensei, decided french kisses were the tactic of choice this morning.

And it was enough. My recoil shot down my spine and into my innards. Oh my God, that’s right. I have a bladder!

I heave a defeated breath, opening my eyes to the smug face of a victorious feline and my exasperated mug reflecting in his gold coin eyes.

I mumble a few choice words as I stumbled out of bed. Deed done and now wide awake, I scoop the anticipated breakfast into the dish of its waiting owners. The sound of their ungrateful gobbling tells me exactly who’s in charge. Some day, Leo.